The Ballad of Wood Hite
by Uncommon Pen
Summary: Wood Hite, Jesse James' own cousin, was murdered. By whom? None other than Robert Ford.
1. Chapter 1

Robert Ford killed Wood Hite. He had to, and he felt no remorse for the act. Though Wood was Jesse James' own cousin, Robert still felt nothing but pride when he recalled the event. Dick Liddil had made Wood extremely angry by sleeping with his daddy's new wife. Wood intended to kill Dick for it, and so he went to the Harbison farm. Dick, Charley and Bob had been asleep upstairs. Bob woke up and listened to the low voices rise with heat, and he heard Wood's voice and jumped out of bed. He went over to Dick and shook him awake. They sat on their beds, guns cocked and ready. Charley slept on, obvilious. Wood came thumping up the stairs, and Dick and Robert held their breath as the footsteps suddenly stopped. Soon gun-fire broke out, the door burst open. Charley woke up with a start and jumped out the window to avoid Wood's rain of bullets, only to roll off the roof and into a snow bank.

Robert sat on his bed, shaking, hands sweating around the metal of the gun. Dick and Wood fired at each other, Dick hitting Wood in the arm, and Wood hitting Dick in the leg. Smoke drifted happily into the air as their shots missed and buried themselves into the walls and floor. Dick raised his gun a final time, aimed for Wood's head, but the gun snapped against an empty chamber. Picking up his gun, Wood drug himself purposefully over to Dick and pressed the gun into Dick's forehead, the gun clicking as he cocked it. Dick squeezed shut his eyes and steeled himself against death, and a gun went off. It was not Wood's gun that let off a charge, but Robert Ford's. The bullet caught Wood in the back of the head, coming out between his eyes. Soon Wood died, and Robert and his brother Wilbur threw him, naked, into a ditch, kicking snow over his body.

Robert Ford felt no regret. Dick was his friend; he was happy he protected him. Whenever the name Wood Hite was spoken, Robert would get an image of Wood and Charley digging through his personal belongings, mocking his childish obsession with the famous outlaw, Jesse James. He forgave his brother for that; Charley may have been a jerk at some times, but he would never hurt Bob. Wood, however, didn't give Bob such an easy feeling. Wood should have been grateful. He should have been respectful. Jesse James deserved to be admired. Wood was just a jealous old fool, and Robert was glad he was gone.

One night Jesse and Bob sat outside smoking together. The rest of the house had gone to bed. Jesse couldn't sleep because of his insomnia, and Robert couldn't sleep because of the cold feeling of being watched kept haunting him awake. Neither of them explained their reasons for being awake. They simply sat on the porch in their rocking chairs, puffing on cigars and blowing the smoke into the cool night air.

"I heard," Jesse spoke at last. "about Dick fiddling around with my Uncle's wife."

Robert gazed into his lap for a minute, pushing his feet into the ground, causing the chair to rock back and forth. He took the cigar out of his mouth. "I hadn't heard much about it," He commented lightly, watching the tip of his cigar glow with fire within.

Jesse turned his head to start at Bob. "I find that hard to believe," he said, speaking around his cigar. "seeing how he visited you here for awhile."

Robert shrugged. "All I know's that it was an unpleasant situation between Dick and himself, and Wood was deeply offended by it." He puffed at his cigar.

"Well," Jesse sighed, leaning back. "Suppose I oughta' tell you, Wood's been missing for nearly a week now, and last anybody's heard of him, he was headed this way."

"Maybe he changed his mind on the road," Bob suggested, staring down at the cracks in the porch.

"I don't think so." Jesse said, his tone rather harsh. He thumped his cigar into the darkness. The red embers floated on the wind before turning into ash and disappearing. He sat up, his boots thudding into the hollow porch, leaning over and staring at Robert.

Bob swallowed smoke. He looked at Jesse, his blue eyes shining. He didn't know what to say, and he also didn't think Jesse wanted a response. He kept silent.

Jesse James studied Bob for a moment, the fierceness of his gaze burning into Bob's consciousness, engulfing his every thought. "I think Wood was murdered." James said darkly.

"What made you come to that conclusion?" Robert asked, twisting the cigar until it fell apart in his fingers. He dropped it suddenly and stomped the ashes into the porch until the flames went out. He looked back at Jesse sheepishly.

"At dinner a few nights ago, you said Dick came here for a bit. Well, that was about the same time that Wood should've showed up." Jesse replied evenly, licking his lips. "So that means, either Wood never came, or he did and Dick killed him." He sat back, satisfied, and titled his head to watch Robert's reaction.

"I... I guess he must've had a change of heart." Robert said nervously.

Jesse James smiled slightly and looked out into the night. "I thought you were loyal to me, Bobby." He said mockingly, as if his feelings were hurt.

Bob's heart quickened. "I am, Jesse." He said, looking over at Jesse helplessly. All he ever wanted was to make Jesse James happy. "I'll do anything you tell me to."

Jesse's smiled faded. He shot daggers at Bob. "Then tell me what happened." His voice was hard, commanding. It sent shivers up Robert's spine.

Robert Ford stared down into his lap. Numbness filled his limbs. His heart thudded in his chest, but he could no longer feel it. "I killed Wood." He said at last, his voice dry and weak.

Jesse stared at him. "Now why would you do that?"

"He was gonna kill Dick." Robert squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his face with his hands.

"Wood was my cousin." Jesse said after a lonely moment of silence.

"Yeah, but he was a dirty, lying, son of a bitch." Robert said hotly.

To Bob's surprise, Jesse laughed. "He sure was, wasn't he?" Jesse grinned and gazed at the lantern sitting at the porch steps. Moths and beetles flittered quietly around the light, beating themselves into the glass. "He was still my blood." Jesse added harshly.

Robert looked at Jesse, but quickly looked away as he felt his lip begin to quiver. Shame flooded over him. He didn't even know what he felt bad for. Should he feel bad for killing Wood before he killed Dick? Should he feel bad because Wood was Jesse's cousin? Robert didn't know, but one thing he did know was that he was responsible for killing Jesse's own flesh and blood. Now he regretted it, though he still wasn't sure why. "I'm sorry, Jesse." He said softly.

"You oughta' go to sleep, now." Jesse said abruptly.

Robert Ford hesitated, wanting to say something else, but when no words reached his tongue, he obediently stood up and went inside the house.


	2. Chapter 2

Bob laid awake for some time that night, listening to the house breathing. He could hear his brother snoring in the bed across from him. He wondered what Jesse James was doing, if he was still out on the porch, if he, too, remained awake, or if maybe he was standing in the doorway, watching Bob. After awhile, he could no longer tell if his eyes were open or shut, and sleep found him after what seemed like years of lying in darkness.

He slept and as he slept he dreamed that he was riding his horse across a hilly green pasture. The sun was out and it was a beautiful day, and the air felt warm against his skin. Suddenly clouds gathered in the sky and turned the day to night. Thunder rolled in the distance, growing louder as it came closer. Bob's horse panicked and began to buck like wild, and Bob struggled to hold on. The horse slung him out of the saddle and reared up on her hind legs, and Bob hit the ground and the breath was knocked out of him. He looked up at the horse, which neighed in terror and began to fall backwards. The second before Bob was crushed by the horse, he woke up.

Sweat prickled across his body, and he had an uneasy feeling, but other than that, Robert Ford completely forgot his dream. He sat up in bed, squinting against the sunlight coming in through the windows. Charley was up and getting dressed, tucking in his shirt as he stomped on his boot.

"Breakfast is about ready, Bob." Charley told him.

Bob nodded and threw back the covers on his bed.

Charley left the room as Bob got dressed. As soon as Charley shut the door behind him, Robert knelt down beside his bed and pulled out a shoebox. Delicately, he traced the worn-out lines in the cardboard, parting the dust in little ridges. He gazed down at his box of treasure, his heart sinking to his stomach as he recalled last night's chat with Jesse. He closed his eyes and swallowed, dreading what might happen next. Now everyone in the house knew Bob had killed Wood Hite, but Bob was the only one that knew Jesse knew. What if he was downstairs right now, testing them? He opened his eyes and shoved the box back under his bed. They didn't know a thing, that was their story. If questioned, they would avoid it by changing the subject. Bob only hoped that Jesse hadn't figured out that everyone knew the truth.

Robert went downstairs, and his heart flickered with hope when he saw Jesse wasn't at the table yet. He sat at the head of the table with Charley to his left. Martha sat down a plate of biscuits and sausages then set down a pitcher of milk before sitting down to Bob's right. Wilbur, Robert's other brother, walked in the room and sat down next to Charley after giving Martha an affectionate smile. Robert stared down at the plate of sausages, watching the steam rise.

"Jesse, are you coming in to eat?" Martha called.

Robert raised his eyes as Jesse James came in from the side door, blowing the last bit of smoke from a cigar out of the side of his mouth. He caught Bob's eye and smiled slightly, licking the taste of smoke from his lips. Jesse let the door shut behind him and went to his seat at the other end of the table, across from Bob.

"Would you like to say grace, Charley?" Martha stared at Charley, smiling sweetly.

Charley cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "Sure," He replied awkwardly. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head on top of them. "Dear Lord, thankyou for this food, thankyou for family, and thankyou for, uh..." He broke off suddenly. Bob opened his eyes and peered at his brother, who's forehead was wrinkled with confusion as he struggled to find something else to say.

"Friends."

Bob looked up. Jesse James was staring at him.

"Yeah, uh... thankyou, Jesse. Uh... thankyou for friends! Amen." Charley finished.

"Thankyou, Charley." Martha couldn't hide the smile in her voice.

Bob blinked and stared down at his plate. Soon glasses were full of milk and plates were full of biscuits and sausages. Nobody spoke for a good ten minutes while forks and knives scraped across plates as everyone ate.

Robert kept feeling queasy, but he didn't want to excuse himself. That would look too suspicious. He forced a biscuit into his mouth and chased it down with a big gulp of milk. He tried not to look up, for he could feel Jesse's persistent gaze, watching him.

After breakfast, Wilbur and Martha cleaned the table off and washed the dishes. Robert got up and followed Charley to the porch. Charley struck a match and began puffing at a cigar. He didn't notice Bob until he shook out the match.

"Oh, hey." Charley acknowledged him with a warm smile.

Robert sat down on the porch steps, saying nothing. He skidded his boot across the dead leaves on the steps, crumbling them instantly. Charley watched him quietly for a moment, then leaned up against a post, sighing out a cloud of smoke.

"Somethin' wrong?" He asked.

"My stomach hurts." Bob answered shortly, standing up. He glanced over at Charley, about to say something else, but then Jesse came out onto the porch. Bob turned away.

"Howdy." Jesse James said, grinning at Charley, his gaze hardening a bit when he saw Bob. Robert ignored them, staring silently at the trees as they swayed in the morning breeze.

Charley grinned like a dog. "You like them sausages?" He asked happily.

"Oh, yeah. They was mighty good." Jesse said agreeably, digging into his pockets for a cigar. He frowned all of a sudden. "I guess I'm all out," He said regrettably, slapping his empty pockets.

"Well, here," Charley pulled out a cigar from his own pocket. "I've got plenty."

Jesse smiled easily and took it. "Why thankyou, Charley." He struck a match and stared smoking. He stared at Bob for a moment. "What's wrong with the kid?"

"He says his stoma-"

"Nothing." Robert interrupted, turning to give Charley a warning look. He glanced at Jesse for a second before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away.

Jesse James watched him go. Smoke curled out of his mouth, and ashes bristled with flames at the end of his cigar. He rolled the cigar to the other side of his mouth with his tongue. Looking over at Charley, Jesse smiled as an idea came to his mind.

"You got any idea what happened to Wood Hite?"


	3. Chapter 3

Later that day, Jesse planned on going to town for some more cigars. Charley wanted to go with him, so Jesse sent him to the barn to get the horses ready. Bob was already there: He'd been there for half of the morning. Bob leaned quietly against his horse's stall, stroking the horse's mane. He didn't look up as his brother burst into the barn.

Charley noticed Bob instantly and headed straight for him, his easy-going look vanishing into worry.

"Somethin's up, Bob." He said nervously, taking the bridles down from the hook.

Bob rubbed his horse behind the ears. "Why do you say that?" He asked, not looking at him.

"I don't know why, but he suspects the devil out of you." Charley said, jerking on a stubborn bridle until it fell from the hook.

Bob turned to him at last. "Suspects me of what?" He asked cautiously.

"Wood!" Charley hissed. "He doesn't even seem to think Dick had somethin' to do with him disappearing. He's somehow got it in his mind that you put him under."

Bob shrugged, turning back to the horse as it stuck it's head over the stall to be petted some more. "Well, I did." He said absently.

Charley shook his head. "He doesn't know that! At least, I haven't told him nothing. I'll tell you, it was hard keeping a straight face about it when he asked."

Bob acted as though that didn't bother him. He gazed into his horse's eyes, seeing his hazy reflection on a much smaller scale.

"Are you even listening to me?" Charley snapped.

"Hey, Charley! Are we going, or what?" Jesse called from outside.

"Yeah! I'm just about done, here!" Charley called cheerfully. He turned to Robert, his eyes heavy and gray. "Bob, you better wise up real quick-like." Charley said bitterly, taking a saddle and going into a stall. Metal hooks clanked together as he saddled up his horse. Soon he led his horse out of the stall and tied the bridle to the gate. "Jesse thinks you killed Wood. If he ever finds out..." He shook his head, lost for words, then he moved into another stall to saddle Jesse's horse. "I don't even want to think about it." Charley said at last.

Bob stroked his horse wordlessly. The horse nudged his hand happily.

Charley gave Bob a whithering look before taking the horses outside to Jesse.

Bob ignored them, but he could still hear them talking and laughing. They mounted up, then all he could hear was the pounding of hoof-beats as they rode away.

Bob soon lost interest in his horse. He fed it a sugar cube and went back to the house.

Wilbur and Martha were sitting in the rocking chairs on the front porch. They stared at Bob with cold expressions, silent as the grave, until he walked past them and went inside. Robert scuffed his boots against the floor, feeling bored and lonesome. He went into the kitchen and took a leftover biscuit from the table, then he sat in Jesse's seat. He imagined being Jesse James, how he would feel if his cousin was murdered by a foolish kid just trying to impress him. Feeling queezy again, Bob looked down at the dry biscuit in his hand, and lost his appetite. He scooted the chair back and threw the biscuit on the plate before shaking his head and dragging himself up the stairs.

Bob went to the bedroom window and gazed out at the mid-morning sun. He ran his finger over the window sill, noticing the scars where bullets had pierced the wood. It was the window Charley had jumped out of, that day when Wood showed up. Bob sighed. As he realized he would never escape his guilt, Bob turned away from the window and went to his bed.

His eyes lit up as he thought about taking out his box and reminiscing over his childhood. He sank down to his knees and reached under his bed for the shoebox and gently took it out, placing it on the bed. Smiling, Robert Ford shifted through old comic books and newspapers, reading the titles and headings with fondness. His fingers traced over various trinkets; buttons, shoelaces, napkins, bullets, anything and everything Jesse may have touched.

Bob swallowed and looked up sharply. He heard a noise. He strained his ears to listen, but then he relaxed as he realized it was just Martha and Wilbur coming back inside. He heard them talking, but paid no attention to what they were saying. Vaguely he thought they might come upstairs and catch him, only to ridicule him later in front of Jesse James.

Once again, the name Wood Hite flew into his mind. His blue eyes burned with tears and his lips quivered suddenly. Bob shook his head to make it stop, but he couldn't. Tears began to fall from his eyes, blotting onto the old stories and pictures. He let out a strangled sound and quickly put the lid on the box and shoved it under the bed. He mouthed a quick prayer that God would keep the pictures from being ruined by his foolish tears.

Then he stood up and pulled off his boots, and crawled miserably into bed. He tugged the covers firmly over his ear to block out the noise, and he faced the wall to help block out the sun. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Robert managed to keep the tears from falling any more, yet his body still shook with sobs that wanted out, and his head began to ache with pressure from holding it all in. Despite all that, Bob drifted into a restless sleep, and he didn't wake up until Charley got him for supper.


	4. Chapter 4

Dinner was good. Martha made roast chicken and potatoes. Charley and Jesse were chatting and laughing the whole time, talking about their little trip to town. Martha and Wilbur smiled at their story, while Bob, who remained stone-silent, was having a hard time keeping his food in his stomach.

"What did you do this afternoon, Bob?" Jesse asked suddenly.

Bob flinched and looked up at his name. He hadn't been listening. His face was pale.

"Pardon?" He asked shyly.

"I said, what did you do this afternoon?" Jesse repeated.

Everyone turned to stare at Bob. Bob figdeted uncomfortably.

"Nothin', really." He muttered.

"He was sleepin' like a baby when we got back. I had to wake him up for supper!" Charley burst out, laughing.

Jesse James gazed at Bob. Bob avoided his eyes by picking up his glass and drinking some water. His hand was shaking.

"Feeling a bit sick, Bobby?" Jesse's voice was deep and suspecting.

Suddenly Bob's stomach twisted into knots.

"Excuse me," He stood up quickly and left the room.

Everyone stared after him as they heard the front door bang shut. Charley started to get up, but Jesse waved at him to sit.

"Leave him. He's alright." Jesse sniffed.

Charley sat back down. Slowly, they started eating again.

Outside, the sun was setting, painting the skies with streaks of gold and violet. The air was warm and humid, but a cold front was coming in. Bob didn't notice any of this. He rushed out of the house and clutched at his stomach, gritting his teeth in pain. His eyes bulged and he dropped to his knees and threw up off the porch. Shaking, sweating, Bob leaned back and sat on his knees, breathing heavily. His eyes filled with tears, and he balled his hands into fists. His stomach still churned, his head began to spin. He threw up again, then a third time, before he finally felt better. He sat there for a long time. His body trembled, his head ached, and sweat ran down his back. The sun sank beneath the earth, and stars began to light up the sky, following the moon's example. He shivered and realized he was cold, but he wasn't about to go back inside. Bob just knew they would laugh at him, make fun of the baby that couldn't eat his dinner. He took a deep, shakey breath and stood up, grasping onto the post to steady himself. Standing up made him dizzy, so he held onto the post even tighter. Crickets, frogs and owls became the song of the night. Their shrill voices blocked out all other thoughts in Robert's head, and he closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing.

Martha came outside and talked to Bob for a few minutes, then she gave him some hot tea and sent him to bed.

Bob collapsed into bed. Charley helped Bob take his boots off, then he covered him up with a blanket. Bob fell asleep right away. Charley gazed down at his brother, feeling sorry for him, before tossing another blanket over him and going back downstairs.

When Bob woke up, he thought he was dreaming. He felt like he was floating and spinning at the same time, and his eyes couldn't seem to focus. Jesse had grabbed him by the mouth and shook him until he woke up. Bob merely opened his blood-shot eyes and stared up at Jesse in a daze.

"Shh. Come outside with me, kid." Jesse whispered.

Bob got up and followed Jesse down the stairs and out the front door. The hour was late. The sky was black with pin-pricks of white. Jesse motioned for Bob to sit in a chair, so he did. Jesse took the other chair.

Robert didn't speak. His head was killing him, and he felt like he was freezing. He shivered constantly and gazed over at Jesse with helpless eyes.

"What happened to Wood Hite?" Jesse asked. He knew that Bob was ill, and he also knew he would get straight answers out of him now.

"I killed him, Jesse." Bob answered, his voice weak. He crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt to keep warm.

"What did you do with the body?"

"Threw it in a ditch." Bob said, squinting and grabbing at his stomach. He curled his toes into the porch, obviously in pain.

"Where's Dick Liddil?" Jesse sat up and stared at Bob, his face like stone.

"I..." Robert winced and gasped, slumping back into his chair. "I don't know." He lied. He had figured out Jesse's game, and he was determined to beat him.

Jesse stared at him for a long time. "You think I oughta' kill you?" He asked darkly.

Robert raised his head, his eyes glossing over. His lip quivered as he gazed at Jesse.

"I'd...I'd rather you didn't." He answered helplessly.

Jesse said nothing for awhile. The sound of frogs and insects filled the night air.

"Wood didn't have a say in it," He said at last.

Bob looked away. "He made his choice when he came in shooting."

"I suppose he did." Jesse agreed.

Silence.

Jesse started to hum an old hymn, tapping his boot with the beat.

A million thoughts raced into Robert's head, but his head was pounding so hard he couldn't concentrate on any one of them. Dizziness made him feel detatched from his body. Bob rubbed his face and sighed heavily.

"Am I dreaming?" He whispered.

Jesse peered over at him with an amused expression. "Sure you are, kid." He replied.

"I feel like I can fly," Bob said, looking at Jesse. "This is very strange. Usually when I dream of you, we're just riding horses together."

"Fascinating."

"I'm sorry I killed Wood," Robert said at last. "No, that was a lie. I'm sorry it upset you when I killed him. But he never had anything good to say about you, except when he was rubbing in the fact that you were his cousin. Nobody else seemed to mind that I shot him... I guess they were just glad it wasn't Dick." Bob picked at his fingernails, blinking against his emotions. "They wouldn't have cared if I had died in the cross-fire," He added weakly.

"Yeah, you're a good-for-nothin'." Jesse agreed, striking a match and lighting up a cigar.

Bob whirled on him. "Wh-what?" He asked, dumb-struck.

Jesse blew out a stream of smoke. "You're right. No one woulda' cared if you died, except your own mother. But she's dead, isn't she?" He grinned wickedly before continuing. "Yep, nobody cares about poor little Bob. He's just Charley Ford's baby brother, a pip-squeak cowboy wanna-be." He rocked in his chair, amusing himself.

Robert trembled. His head cleared enough for him to realize he wasn't dreaming. He was in a living nightmare. "That's probably true," He said after a minute. "But that's why I've been trying to join up with the James gang, so I can make somethin' of myself." He twisted his sweaty fingers together, staring into his lap.

"Aww, and here I thought you just wanted to get close to me." Jesse frowned in mock disappointment.

Bob turned to him. "I don't appreciate you makin' fun of me," He said bitterly. "Especially since I think so highly of you." Suddenly, he stood up.

Jesse sucked at his cigar, watching Robert.

"I'm going back to bed now," Bob said, shifting his bare feet.

"Why don't you stay with me a little longer?" Jesse gazed at him.

"I'm awfully tired, Jesse." Bob answered softly.

"Go on, then." Jesse turned away dismissively.

Robert Ford went back inside.

He laid awake for hours, staring into the darkness. His stomach was in knots and his head felt like it was on fire, but he no longer felt sick. The moon let in a soft, pale light, casting strange shadows throughout the bedroom. Bob watched the moon light slowly fade as morning approached. Then, minutes before the sun was to rise, he, at last, fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Jesse announced he would be going back to his home to be with his wife, Zee. After breakfast he said his farewells, and Martha and Wilbur automatically told him how wonderful it was to have him. Robert Ford made no response, nor did he even acknowledge that Jesse was there. Jesse went out to the barn to saddle his horse, and Charley followed him. Robert stayed inside, watching them from the bedroom window. Soon Jesse James rode off into the distance, and Charley limped back to the house.

"Hey, Bob!" Charley called from downstairs.

Robert continued to stare out the window.

"He's upstairs," Martha told him.

Footsteps clumped up the stairs, and presently the bedroom door opened.

"Bob, guess what?" Charley said excitedly, hanging onto the door knob.

Bob gazed at the sky. The tiny, white, puffs of clouds were gathering together, slowly forming one massive gray cloud.

"Bob?" Charley walked over and put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

Robert flinched. "What?" He asked shortly.

"Jesse says we can come over to his place! He told me how to get there and everything!"

Bob looked down at his hands. "Facinating," He replied, testing out Jesse's voice.

"Yeah, uh... so when do you want to go? He said any time next week is good for him. He just wants some time to be with his family for awhile."

Bob turned away from the window and shoved past Charley. He went over to his bed and sat down, looking old beyond his years.

"What's the matter with you? I thought you'd be excited!" Charley said, slightly irritated.

"He knows I killed Wood Hite." Bob said, dropping his face into his hands.

"No, no, I was overly-suspicious, see." Charley responded quickly. "Me and him had a real nice chat about it at the barn, and he didn't so much as mention your name when I brought up Wood's disappearance." Charley grinned like a monkey, proud of himself.

"Why would you bring it up?" Bob demanded, glaring up at Charley with venom.

"Well, I wasn't sure if he suspected you or not, and I figured the best way to find out is to ask."

"You're an idiot." Bob looked away.

"Excuse me?" Charley frowned and walked over to Bob. "I'm a_ what_?"

"I told Jesse, okay?" Bob snapped. "Just two nights ago."

Charley stared at him for a moment, then his eyes grew wide.

"He was toying with me!" He sputtered at last. "He was toying with everyone- he knew? Oh, my God, Bob..."

Robert Ford shook his head slowly and sighed.

Suddenly Charley jabbed a finger at Bob. "He's going to kill you!" He burst out. "If you go to his house, he is going to kill you for sure!"

"He didn't care for Wood anyhow." Bob said calmly. He sat on his bed and let his mind drift. He thought of the box under his bed, the box of stories and treasures that made Jesse James out to be a hero. What kind of hero wouldn't take revenge on his cousin's murderer? Jesse himself had told Bob those stories were all made-up. Jesse was no hero. He killed for money and fame, not for revenge. Not for revenge... Bob swallowed and looked up at Charley.

"I'm going to his house next week." He decided. Jesse wouldn't kill Bob. Bob was the hero. He protected his friend. He saved someone's life while taking the life of an enemy. How could Jesse possibly loathe him for that?

"No, Bob! You can't!" Charley told him sharply. "He will kill you in a heartbeat! There just ain't no way you're goin' over there."

"Keep talkin' to me like that and I'll go right now!" Robert growled.

"Bob..." Charley's voice softened, and his eyes grew heavy and sad.

Suddenly Robert stood up. He gave Charley a hateful glare before pushing by and going downstairs.

"Please, don't go, Bob!" Charley begged after him.

Robert ignored Wilbur and Martha's stares and went outside. He ran across the yard to the barn and jerked the barn doors open. Light filled the barn from the doors, revealing specks of dust drifting in mid-air. Rats scurried into stalls and behind hay bales as Bob marched over to the horses. It didn't take him long to saddle his horse, so soon he was pounding out of the barn, kicking up a cloud of dust behind him as he rode away.

Once he was sure no one tried to follow him, Bob slowed his horse down to a walk. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't want to go to Jesse's house yet, only because Jesse had wanted time to be with his wife. It was not because he was afraid. Robert Ford was not afraid. He rode over to a lake and let his horse drink. Squinting up at the darkening sky, Bob realized he forgot his hat. He sighed. It was going to rain soon. He tapped his horse to go forward, and the horse began wading into the water. Bob pulled back right before the water reached his boots. The horse didn't seem to mind. It was a warm day. Leaning over, Bob gazed into the water to see his reflection. His shallow face, darkening eyes, his wind-blown hair, scrawny body covered in over-sized clothes. He looked ten years younger without his hat on. He snarled at his reflection and jerked on the reigns until his horse backed out of the water.

The wind began picking up speed. Bob could feel the coldness in the air, promising a storm. The horse whipped her wet tail at a fly, catching Bob on the leg. Bob flinched at the sudden sting and angrily slapped his horse on the shoulder.

He kicked his horse into a gallop and rode into the woods. An idea came into his head, and he smiled. He was going to visit Dick Liddil. Of course Dick would be glad to see him. Bob did, after all, save his life. Behind him, thunder rumbled deep into the earth. The trees around him began to bend and sway in the wind, but Bob rode on, grinning and stubborn, finally with a purpose.


	6. Chapter 6

The rain was coming down hard by the time Bob made it to Kansas City. His horse's breath came out in rough pants, steam blowing out into the air as they rode. Rain soaked into his clothes and filled his boots, and his horse was drenched and slippery to the touch. The rain still fell, and the sky was a swirling mass of gray clouds. Lightning flashed through the trees, and thunder roared after it. As he rode, the mud sucked at his horse's hooves, making a squelching sound at every driven step. Soon he broke out of the woods and trotted into the town square.

Bob had never been to Dick Liddil's house before. He cursed the rain and cursed his misfortune as he slid off of his horse to get directions. He tied his horse to a post at a bar and paused under the awning to empty his boots, shaking out the freezing water before shoving them back on and going inside the bar.

The bar was nearly empty. Only three men sat at random tables, hunched miserably over their whiskey shots and beer bottles with sunken, dark eyes. The bar tender turned to stare at Robert as he came inside the bar, bringing a surge of cold air with him as the door swung open and shut. Bob grinned apologetically and walked over to the bar tender.

The bar tender looked him up and down with disapproving eyes. Water dripped from Bob's shirt tails and ran down his legs and into the floor. Bob chewed his lip briefly before speaking.

"Excuse me, uh... by any chance do you happen to know where I could find Dick Liddil?"

The bar tender squinted one eye. "Who's askin'?"

"I'm, uh... I'm a friend of his." Robert answered shyly.

"A friend. I ain't never seen ya around here before." The bar tender grunted tonelessly.

Bob looked down and trembled from the cold. "I haven't ever come this way before." He said, hinting at sarcasim.

"Buy a drink and I'll tell ya." The bar tender said at last, slapping a shot glass onto the counter.

Bob Ford bought the cheapest whiskey the bar tender had, and he threw it back in a second. He closed his eyes briefly as the warmth of alcohol ran through his veins. Dizziness rippled through his head. He sighed with pleasure and looked at the bar tender, who was smiling slightly.

"Good, eh?"

Bob nodded agreeably and paid the man.

"Well, " The bar tender said, taking the money. "Dick Liddil hasn't been home in awhile, but just last week he showed up, pale as a dead fish, too. I suppose he got into some trouble, that's why he ran on home, but... as for which house is his, I couldn't tell ya."

Robert sighed and shook his head, feeling ripped off. Water dripped from his hair and ran down his forehead. The warmth from the whiskey was wearing off fast. He shifted his feet and stared at the bar tender.

"You have no idea where he lives?" He demanded sourly.

"Well, I know it's one of them houses on the out-skirts of town. Out in the middle of nowhere."

Bob sighed again. "Thanks." He sniffed and wiped his nose, then he glanced around the bar at the other customers before going back outside. His horse was shivering up against the railing, trying to stay warm. Bob patted it on the head before untying the reigns and mounting up. The rain whipped him in the face like needles as he rode against the wind, heading out of town.

He found Dick's house right away. He rode up to the porch and dismounted, tying his horse to the rail before jumping up to the front door. He shook off his clothes as best as he could and knocked on the door. He waited a few seconds, but heard nothing, so he knocked again. Thunder growled in the distance. His horse stamped her feet impatiently. Still, no answer.

"Dick!" Bob called, knocking harder. No noise except the beating of rain against the roof. He frowned and opened the door. The house was dim and junky. Bob stepped inside cautiously.

"Dick?" He called again, tip-toeing down the hallway. "Hello?" He stuck his head in a room. It was a bedroom. The bed was unmade. Clothes were scattered across the floor. He moved on.

"Di-"

Bob froze. Dick had jumped out of a room and stuck a gun to his forehead. Dick's eyes were wild and his face was fierce. He leaned around the gun to see who he was pointing it at.

"Bob?" Dick said, genuinely surprised.

Robert Ford smiled nervously. "Hey, Dick."

Dick squinted at him and frowned, lowering the gun. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, I was just in the neighborhood, thought I'd stop by-"

"How did you find me? Is anyone with you?" Dick demanded.

"No, just me." Bob sighed.

"How did you find me?" Dick said again.

"I knew you went to Kansas City. All I had to do was ask the bar tender where you lived." Bob shrugged.

"Damn it," Dick cursed and turned away. He began walking back down the hall. Bob followed him like a puppy. Dick went into the bedroom and began kicking clothes into a pile. He then grabbed the pile of clothes and chunked them on the bed, where an open sack was waiting.

"Going on a trip?" Bob asked carefully, standing in the doorway.

"Jesse's gonna come after me for killing Wood." Dick said quickly. "So it's either run like hell, or turn myself in."

"Jesse's not gonna come after you." Robert told him.

"Yes, he will. Wood was his cousin, he's not gonna just roll over and-"

"I told him I killed him." Bob interupted.

Dick stood up, holding a pair of worn-out boots. He dropped them on the bed. "You told him?" He repeated. "You told him? Damn it, Bob! Don't you have a brain in that big head of your's?" He sighed and shook his head, trying to clear it. "Did you tell him everything?" He asked bitterly. "About _why_ Wood was after me in the first place?"

"I didn't tell him that. But I think he found out somehow." Bob answered softly.

"Of course he did, of course he did." Dick mocked, shoving the last of the clothes into the sack. "God, I don't even know what to do, now." He said wearily, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Come back to the gang," Bob suggested.

"You really are stupider than your brother," Dick gritted his teeth. "Jesse would kill me in a heartbeat. You, too, now that you've gone and told him."

"He didn't seem to mind," Robert said easily. "I bet he'd love to have you back."

"Oh, just shut up, Bob!" Dick snapped. "You're an idiot! You don't know what the hell you're talking about, so why don't you just go back home to your daddy?"

Bob trembled angrily. "I'm not goin' anywhere!" He retorted.

"Oh yes you are!" Dick stood up, pointing his gun at Bob. "You're gonna get out of my place, _right now_, before I blow you to hell and back!"

Bob stood there for a second or two, then Dick cocked his gun, so Bob turned and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

The rain was still steadily coming down.

Looking up at the sky, Bob noticed the hour was late. As the storm clouds slowly cleared, the darkness of night was rolling in. He got on his horse and galloped away from Dick's house, his tears of rage mixing in with the stinging rain.


	7. Chapter 7

All he ever wanted was to make Jesse James proud of him. Robert Ford spurred his horse onwards through the storm. The sky was growing black with night, and soon the only light was the blinding flash of lightning. He stopped by someone's house, for they had a lantern sitting on the porch, and a man was standing there, smoking and watching the skies. Bob dismounted and walked up to the porch, holding his horse by the reigns. He reached up to tip his hat, but realized he wasn't wearing one. To hide his embarressment, he ducked his head and blinked rapidly to clear the rain from his eyes.

"Excuse me, sir, by any chance would you lend me a place to sleep for the night?" He asked shyly, looking up at the man.

The man stared at him wordlessly and finished his cigar, thumping it at Bob.

"Get out of here, boy. Go back home to your pa. Runnin' away won't do ya' no good." The man said at last before picking up the lantern and going inside the house.

_Boy, boy, boy, useless, foolish boy._ Bob stood there for a moment, but then a crash of thunder shook him into reality as his horse jerked her head in fear. Robert got on his horse and rode on down the road. Squinting through the darkness, he could see lights up ahead from more houses. As soon as he could, Robert jumped off his horse and ran onto the porch of the nearest house. A chill went through him as he became protected from the rain. He shook out his jacket a little before knocking on the door. He licked his lips as rain slid down his face. Presently, a woman opened the door. The smell of potatoes and chicken floated out of the house. Robert felt his stomach tighten with yearning.

She looked Bob up and down with a puzzled expression. "Can I help you?" She asked in a harsh tone.

"Howdy," Bob grinned and nodded. "I'm, uh... I'm Robert Ford," He paused deliberately to gauge her reaction. She stared at him expressionlessly. "Charley Ford's brother?" He added, his tone a bit hard. When she continued to stare obliviously, Bob sighed and went on with noticeably disappointment. "Anyhow, I would really appreciate it if you could let me spend the night here." He muttered, squishing his toes inside his wet boots.

The woman glanced behind her, then back at Bob. "Hold on," She shut the door in his face.

Bob stood there awkwardly, then began squeezing out his shirt. Wind howled around the house, throwing the rain back at him. He wiped off his face and shook his hair like a dog.

The door opened. Warmth and light flooded out of the house, and a battle-worn man stared at Bob. "You need a place to sleep?" He demanded roughly.

"Yes, yes sir, if you would pardon my barging in on you like this. I admit I didn't plan on it." Robert Ford smiled foolishly.

The man frowned and stepped out onto the porch, holding a lantern. Bob backed up automatically. The man pointed.

"Behind the house a ways is a barn. You can sleep in there." The man told Bob, handing him the lantern.

Robert took the lantern eagarly. "Thanky-"

"If anything is out of place, if so much as a straw of hay is missing, I will skin you alive, d'you hear?" The man growled darkly, bulging his wild eyes at Bob.

"Yes sir, thankyou very much. I swear I won't touch nothin'." Bob grinned until the man went back in the house. Then Bob let out his breath, ran out to his horse, and rode to the barn. The barn was small; just big enough for six horses and a few bales of hay. There were only two horses in the stalls, so Bob tied his horse in an empty stall and looked for a nice place to sleep. He set the lantern on the floor by the hay, then looked around. He found a few horse blankets in a stall and tossed one over the hay, then he took off his wet jacket and shirt and hung them on a rail before wrapping up in another blanket and laying down. Shivers wracked his body, and his head was beginning to throb. The lantern flickered warm shadows across the barn. Rain thudded into the roof, wind shook at the barn doors, and lightning fought to get in through the cracks in the walls. The horses sniffed and stamped their feet, restless from the storm. Robert Ford closed his eyes. The last thing that went through his head before he fell alseep was, _I wonder what Jesse had for supper._


	8. Chapter 8

Days went by. Bob Ford kept track of the days like a hen keeps track of her chicks. He planned to go to Jesse James' house on Tuesday, since Jesse had said they could come over next week. He rode his horse all day until it was too dark to see. One night he slept in a barn again. Another night he gave up what little money he had and slept in a spare bedroom above a bar.

By Saturday he made it to Jesse's town, for that is what he called it in his mind. Jesse's bar, Jesse's church, Jesse's bank. Everything around Jesse James became Jesse James'. That night he stayed in a wood-shed, but he didn't get much sleep because the shed was infested with rats. Robert woke up early the next morning and ran on foot down to the local church. He hid behind some bushes across the street and watched the people. Soon enough, Jesse James came walking up the street. Bob's heart fluttered nervously and he felt sweat prickle along his body. He licked his lips and praised himself for finding such a good hiding spot. Jesse walked steadily, dressed in his Sunday best, his guns barely visible from under his jacket. He held his children's hands, and his wife followed them with a glow of happiness surrounding her. They walked right past Bob's bush and didn't suspect a thing. They strolled over to the steps, and Jesse let his children's hands go and they ran, laughing, into the church. People nodded and smiled, greeting Jesse as Mr. Howard. They shook his hand, a few men hugged him, and soon the church doors swung shut behind them.

Robert Ford considered waiting there until church was over, but then he talked himself out of it and stood up. He glanced down at his filthy garmets and sighed. How could he ever measure up to Jesse James? He rubbed a rat bite on his arm and slowly made his way down the street, back to the wood-shed. Bob spent the rest of the day mapping out alleys and short-cuts to Jesse's house, watching them go home after church, spying on them through the windows. Seeing nothing but a man innocent and content in his present situation, Bob drug himself to the wood-shed and sat in the grass outside. His horse grazed on clovers nearby, her fur slick with sweat and caked with mud. Bob figured he didn't look much better. That night he laid out under the stars, for it was a warm, lazy night. He imagined Jesse James laying in a big, warm bed, snuggled next to his loving wife. Jesse James, the outlaw, the hero, the most respected man and also the most feared man out of all men. He gazed up at the stars and wondered if Robert Ford was worth anything. A wrenching feeling in his stomach told him _no_. Bob tried to tell himself he was simply hungry, but his heart knew otherwise. Eventually, he fell alseep. He dreamed that he was Jesse's little boy, and they went fishing together and caught many fish.

Bob woke up with a start. Jealousy rippled through his body and he jumped up. It was still dark outside, but dawn was on its way. Bob gritted his teeth. He had a horrible feeling that Charley was already at Jesse's house. Charley had snuck over during the night, only to knock on the door as soon as it was morning. Well, Bob wasn't about to let that happen. There was no way Charley was going to win Jesse's affection before Bob even got a chance.

He grabbed his horse and galloped down the dark street to Jesse's house. He spurred his horse fiercely and at last came to the house. He dismounted and snuck over to the barn. He opened the doors quickly and shut them behind him. He squinted around for Charley's horse, but didn't see it. Still not convinced, Bob ran back across the yard and ducked behind the house. His legs shook and his heart skipped beats. He was terrified of being caught. Silently, he tip-toed around the house, peeking in the windows as he went. No candles or lanterns were lit. He bit his lip and went around to the porch. He froze in horror as he saw Jesse James standing on the porch. Jesse was smoking a cigar, his back was to Bob. Bob couldn't breathe. He backed up slowly, his eyes huge as he watched Jesse. Suddenly, something crunched under his foot. He glanced down. A broken bottle. He could almost feel Jesse's head turning in his direction. Bob fell backwards behind the house, out of sight, but not as quietly as he had hoped. He heard Jesse's boots clumping on the porch. Panicking, Bob scrambled to his feet and took off like a rabbit around the house.

"Hey!" Jesse yelled after him.

Bob paused at the back door of the house. His horse had wandered off under some trees. Robert Ford tried to catch his breath, but he couldn't even breathe. His heart pounded crazily, and he felt dizzy with fear. Jesse was coming around the house. Bob could hear the leaves and dirt scattering under his boots. Finally, air found its way into his lungs. Bob gasped and sprinted to his horse. A gun shot roared around his ears, defending him. He couldn't tell if he was shot or not. Two more shots whizzed by as Bob mounted his horse and rode away.

Back at the wood-shed, Bob jumped off his horse and collapsed in the grass. His breath came in pants, and he was shaking so bad he couldn't move. He stared at nothing, his mouth hanging open. Suddenly, he sat up and vomited. He gulped air and slowly calmed down. As the sun began to rise, Robert prayed to God and all things holy that Jesse James hadn't seen who he was or where he went.


	9. Chapter 9

An hour later, Bob was at the local bar.

He had sold his filthy jacket, after washing it in the river, to a grocery store owner. Now he sat in a booth in the corner, four empty shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey in front of him. He had stopped ordering shots and just went for the bottle. He threw back his head and gulped down the last of the whiskey before slamming the bottle down on the table. He glared around the empty bar, daring someone to approach him. The only other person in the bar was the bar tender, who was indifferently cleaning beer glasses with an old gray rag.

"I need another," Bob called out in a slur, waving dramatically to the bar tender. He tapped on the empty whiskey bottle impatiently until the bar tender came over.

"Let me see the money first, kid." The bar tender said suspiciously, holding the whiskey bottle just out of Bob's reach.

Bob sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He glanced at the bar tender and pulled out a fist.

"Here," He held out his fist until the bar tender put his hand under it expectantly.

Bob opened his fist and dropped some paper into the bar tender's hand and quickly snatched the whiskey bottle with his other hand. The bar tender looked down at his hand and scowled at the paper. Right before Bob Ford opened the top of the bottle, the bar tender jerked it away.

"Get out of my place!" He snapped, throwing the paper in Bob's face.

Robert didn't know what to say, so he just stood up and stumbled to the door. The light burned in his eyes and he felt dizzy and hot as he stepped out of the bar. He squinted up and down the road before limping over to his horse and riding back to the wood-shed.

He passed out in the dirt by the wood-shed.

He woke up hours later when a small boy began poking him with a stick.

"Who are you?" The boy asked as Robert rolled over.

"Nobody. Jesse James, who are you?" Robert grumbled irritably. He raised his head and stared at the boy.

"You're not Jesse James," The boy grinned, as if proud he could tell.

"Yeah? And how would you know that?" Bob sat up, starting to dislike the boy.

"Jesse James is in jail. He's gonna be hung tomorrow."

Horror flooded into Bob's heart. He jumped to his feet, fighting the hang-over that threatened to knock him over. "How?" He cried.

The boy laughed and poked Bob in the thigh with the stick. "Told you you weren't Jesse James!"

"Why is Jesse in jail?" Robert glared at the boy.

"I don't know, 'cause he's a bad guy." The boy shrugged.

Robert frowned and looked away. It was late in the afternoon. His stomach churned with hunger. Whiskey on an empty stomach left him feeling shaky and off-balance. He stared around, trying to find his horse but didn't see it. He couldn't seem to focus. He turned to the boy.

"You got a mommy or daddy around?"

The boy took him home to his family, and they said Bob could stay for the night, to which Bob graciously declined. Bob's excuse for being such a wreck was that he was attacked by robbers on his way to visit some relatives, and they beat him up and stole his money. The little family was sympathetic, and they let Bob use their bathtub, and even gave him a bit of money. By supper time, Robert Ford was clean and dry. During supper, Bob brought up Jesse James.

"I hear they finally caught Jesse James." He began lightly. Under the table, his legs were shaking. He could barely hold on to his fork.

"Yes sir," The boy's father said loudly. "He went into the sheriff's office this morning. He said somebody tried to break in his house last night." The father laughed suddenly. "He tried to tell them his name was Mr Howard, and they believed him, too! But then some woman came in and when she saw Jesse she started pointing and hollering: "That's Jesse! That's Jesse James!" And the sheriff wanted proof, so she said she was in a train robbery, and Jesse James took off his bandanna for a brief second and she memorized his face. She said seeing him there in the station sparked her memory. They took Jesse James into custody right then and there."

"Th-they know for certain that he's the real Jesse James?" Robert asked, his mouth dry.

"Oh sure, yeah. They found his wife and kids living in a nice house right off the main road. At first, his wife wouldn't talk. Once they shook her kids a bit, she told them all about it."

"That's...unbelievable." Bob replied. His mind was in a fog. Jesse James was in jail. Jesse James was going to be hung. Jesse James was going to die. Suddenly, Robert scooted his chair away from the table and stood up.

"Thanks for everything, sir, ma'am." He nodded his head respectfully.

"Momma, he didn't eat his broccoli!" The boy shouted.

"Hush, now. When you're an adult, you don't have to if you don't want to." The boy's mother said softly.

The boy's eyes lit up. "Really?" He grinned wickedly at the broccoli on his plate.

"Thanks again," Bob glanced at the boy's parents before heading to the door.

"Oh, well, come back and see us sometime Mr Ford!" The father called to him.

Robert Ford left the house. He stood on the porch and started panting for breath. He winced and began running. He ran to the wood-shed. He looked around for his horse. The sun was setting, and the light away fading fast. He whistled and called his horse's name, he ran to the nearest barn and looked inside before a man yelled at him to go away, then he gave up and ran to town. Frantically, he asked random strangers where the jail was until he got a straight answer, then he sprinted to the jail. He tripped on the steps outside the building and crashed into the door. He laid there for a moment, stunned. The sheriff came outside and looked down at him.

"What the hell are you doin'?" He demanded.

Standing up, Bob gradually caught his breath. "I came to see Jesse James." He gasped out.

"Ah, another one." The sheriff frowned. "Get on out of here, boy. I'm tryin' to lock up for the night."

"Aren't you gonna stay and make sure he doesn't escape?" Robert asked, genuinely curiously.

"Nope. Don't need to. There ain't no way he can bust out of them bars, and none of his gang members even knows we caught him." The sheriff smiled easily. "Don't worry; he's not getting out of there."

The only emotion Bob was feeling was guilt. It was his fault Jesse was in jail. Well, it was going to be his fault Jesse escaped, too. Numbness rippled through his body as he tried to come up with a plan. _Insist to go in now? Come back after dark? _His mind went blank when the sheriff turned around the lock the doors. Bob no longer had an idea. He had an action. His body took over, and he snatched the sheriff's gun out of his holster, shoved the gun into the sheriff's back, and pulled the trigger. The noise from the gun echoed down the street, but Bob didn't hear it. The sheriff slumped forward, dead. Blood pooled out around his body onto the porch. The gun was hot in Bob's hands. He shoved the gun in his pants, took the keys from the sheriff's hands, and went inside the jail. Robert Ford was going to rescue his hero.


	10. Chapter 10

Weightless... Dreamy... Bob could feel nothing.

Robert Ford floated through the door and glided to the jail cells. There were three men in jail, each in separate cells. Ignoring the other two, Bob stood in front of Jesse James' cell and looked down at the key-ring in his hands and tried to find the right key.

Jesse James had been asleep on the cot in his cell, but he woke up when he heard the keys jingling together.

"Mornin' all ready?" Jesse grunted, rolling over and sitting up. He placed his feet on the cold floor and squinted up at Bob.

"Bobby?" He said, surprised.

Bob's heart fluttered at the sound of Jesse's voice. He raised his eyes and gave Jesse a weak smile.

"Howdy, Jesse." He said softly.

Jesse looked at the men in the cells beside him, then he peered around Bobby with a puzzled expression.

"Where's the sheriff?" He asked.

Bob swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He fumbled with the keys, his hands shaking.

"I killed him," He said at last. He stuck a key in the lock on the cell door, but it was the wrong key. He selected another key and tried it.

"I didn't think you were such a killer, Bob." Jesse said in a low voice, as if disappointed to know the truth.

"I do what I have to," Bob replied quickly.

He found the right key and turned the lock. Jesse stood up and went to the door as Bob opened it for him.

"I appreciate this, kid." Jesse said gravely, placing a hand on Robert's shoulder.

"It's nothin', really." Bob muttered, suddenly shy.

Jesse walked past Bob and went to the sheriff's desk. He found his guns and wrapped the belt around his waist.

"I guess it's a good thing you came by," Jesse said, turning to Bob as he tightened his gun belt. "They were plannin' on hanging me in the morning."

Robert didn't know what to say. He didn't want to admit it was his fault Jesse wound up in jail in the first place, that he was the one who was slinking around his house last night. Instead of speaking, he just gave Jesse an uneasy smile.

Jesse stared at Bob for a moment.

"Anybody else with you?" He asked.

"Nah," Bob grinned. "I suppose I'm the only one that really cares about you." He tried to make it sound like a joke, but he blushed as he realized how much he wanted it to be true.

Jesse laughed. "Haha! Yeah, yeah..." Suddenly Jesse frowned. "Ain't Charley with you?"

"I don't know where he is," Bob said hotly. "Me and him weren't on very good terms when I left Martha's."

"Why's that?"

"Because I killed Wood. He thinks you..." Robert broke off. He looked around. "Don't you think we oughta be going?"

"What does he think?" Jesse took a step towards Bob.

"Uh..." Bob shifted uncomfortably. "Nothin', he's an idiot. We should go, Jesse." He glanced at the windows. Even though the sun was setting, it seemed too quiet outside. It was making him nervous.

"Fine." Jesse looked at the cells. The other two men were sleeping peacefully. Jesse grabbed his hat from his cell and dusted it off as he walked over to Bob.

Jesse put on his hat. "Lead the way, Bobby." He commanded.

Bob got the gun out of his pants and opened the door. He stepped out quickly and looked around, sweeping the gun in all directions. The world was turning black with night. The streets were empty. Frogs and crickets hummed and cried back and forth to each other, but other than that, all was silent. Robert Ford glanced over at Jesse, who nodded wordlessly, so Bob began to run. They ran through alleys and fields, staying low and in the shadows, but no one saw them. Bob took Jesse to the wood-shed.

"I've been stayin' here for awhile," He told Jesse officially. "It's off the main road, and kind of hidden by the trees some, so no one should look here for us anytime soon."

"_Us_," Jesse chuckled and shook his head.

"I have to get my horse, then we can leave." Bob told Jesse excitedly, then ran off into the darkness.

Robert was relieved to find his horse grazing peacefully by an old, abandoned barn. He mounted up quickly and galloped back to Jesse. Jesse was just leaning against the wood-shed, gazing at the sky as the sun slipped away and the moon took its place. Bob slipped off of his horse and walked it over to Jesse.

"They followed you." Jesse said emotionlessly.

"What?" Bob cried, looking over his shoulder.

"Yep." Jesse sighed. "At first I thought I was seein' things, but, sure enough, their badges were glowing in the moonlight."

Bob looked at Jesse helplessly. "What do we do?"

Jesse looked over at Bob. "Let me take the horse." He said.

Robert handed him the reigns, and Jesse mounted up. He looked down at Bob, studying him, as he got himself situated. He sighed and turned away, as if not seeing what he had hoped for. "You need to distract them for me." He said at last.

Robert Ford felt his blood run cold, and his heart sunk into his stomach. Then, he realized he shouldn't be nervous. Jesse was trusting him with his life. This was Jesse's way of saying he forgave Bob for killing his cousin. He should be honored! Bob nodded.

"What should I do?" He asked determinedly, staring up at Jesse with fierce resolve.

Jesse took off his hat and dropped it down on Bob's head.

"Just hide behind the shed, and shoot them when they try to chase me."

Bob checked his stolen gun. "I only have five bullets left," He said regrettably.

"Here," Jesse unbuckled his gun belt and held it out for Bob. "Take it. Kill them all."

Bob took the belt in awe. "But what about you?" He asked. "Wait, you take the sheriff's gun just in case."

"Fine," Jesse sighed and took the gun. He watched as Bob buckled the belt around his waist. Bob looked up at Jesse and straightened his hat sheepishly.

"Why'd you give me your hat?" He asked.

"Looks better on you," Jesse answered instantly.

Robert Ford's heart swelled with pride. His eyes glistened and he smiled at Jesse James.

"Thanks," He said softly.

Jesse looked away. "I should go. Stay behind that shed until they start coming after me." He tapped his heels into the horse's sides.

"Wait!" Bob burst out. "Where are we going to meet?" He asked desperately.

"I'll find you," Jesse answered dismissively, avoiding his eyes.

Before Bob could say anything else, Jesse James rode away.

Robert licked his lips and pulled out both of Jesse's guns. He cocked them and ducked behind the wood-shed, waiting for shouts and gun-shots. But everything was quiet. Confused, Bob stepped out into the open and looked around.

Then he saw them. The badges did, indeed, sparkle in the moonlight. The polished nickle of the guns sparkled, too. Whispers filled the air: _That's Jesse, that's Jesse James_, they said, but Bob didn't hear anything. All around him, guns cocked and aimed.

Robert Ford wasn't afraid. The police wanted Jesse James, not him. Bob knew one thing for certain: He was going to protect Jesse with everything he had. Nobody was going to touch Jesse James. _Nobody!_

Before Bob could fire his guns, the sheriffs fired theirs. Bullets ripped into Bob and flew out the other side, jerking him from all sides like a marionette puppet. Pain, anguishing pain, followed by dull numbness. The hat flew from his head and was instantly torn to shreds in mid-air. As shots continued to ring out, echoing in his mind, Robert Ford fell onto his back, stared up at the moon, and thanked God for Jesse James.


End file.
